Saint of the Sword
by Weir the Warlock
Summary: Story of one of Storybrooke's less well-known inhabitants. Set in first season, sorry if anything contradicts later seasons. Whether more are published may depend on how many reviews and what they have to say.
1. Chapter 1

Saint of the Sword

Once Upon a Time fic

Part One

The town of Storybrooke…

Emma Swann looked everywhere as she stalked down the street. Henry Mills, the foster son of the mayor had run away; and Emma sought him out, having convinced his adoptive mother to stay at home in case he came back on his own. At the moment she headed in the direction some locals had claimed to see a boy about Henry's height ran down; turning a corner Emma practically grunted in her frustration.

Then she saw it. One of the local businesses; above its front door and an entrance wide enough to accommodate most vehicles on the road stood signage bearing the words 'Hisashi's Reliable Radiator/Muffler Repair and Shop'.

It was doubtful at best whoever worked there had seen the boy, but frankly Emma was short on ideas. Stepping through the door she saw a local's car in the immediate vicinity- and a pair of legs sticking out from beneath it.

"Uh, hello?" Emma called out, "Who's in charge here?"

"That would be me," from under the car slid out a handsome man of Oriental descent. As he pulled himself up to his feet; Emma noticed he had a warm smile, and in spite of the grease stains on his face and coveralls, somehow still managed to look dignified, "Stephen Hisashi," he introduced himself.

Emma extended a hand, "I'm Emma Swann, I'm-"

"Yes, I've seen you before," Stephen interrupted, "You're the new sheriff in town." A lame pun to be sure, but both chuckled at it all the same; Stephen then asked, "What can I do for you, sheriff?"

"Well, I'm trying to find the Mayor's foster son," Emma started, "I was told he came by here- I don't suppose you weren't under the car when he did?"

Stephen nodded in understanding, "I probably was. However it would not be the first time he came here to hide after a fight with his adoptive mother; I think I can show you where he went. If you'll come with me…"

As Emma followed Stephen she looked around the place; for the most part it seemed as ordinary as any other shop of its kind, though she doubted very many had a small shrine to Buddha in the workplace.

Henry Mills squatted under the closed well of a desk, clutching to his chest a book that held a collection of fairy tales- tales which he stubbornly insisted were the 'true lives' of most, if not everyone in the town.

"Henry- are you there?" He heard Mr. Hisashi ask calmly.

"I'm not going back!" Henry shouted; as he did so he kept his eyes shut and gripped the book so tightly his knuckles paled, "You're not going to make me!"

"No, I'm not," Stephen's voice sounded amused, "That is what Sheriff Swann came here to do."

"Henry," Emma pleaded, "You're not going to fix anything by running off and hiding under a desk. It's time to come home, your mom's probably freaking out."

It took about a minute for the boy to relent and crawl out; as she led him away Emma looked back at Stephen, "Thanks for your help, I got to admit I'm surprised just how patient you are with this kid."

Stephen shrugged his shoulders and asked, "Were we not children once?"

Ushering Henry out the door Emma looked at the boy and inquired, "I suppose his story is in that silly book too?"

"Actually it is," Henry answered, "But it is kind of strange…"

The Magic Kingdom…

Pipe smoke hung in the air of the noisy tavern as men drank and ate. All but one of the tables were crowded; that table's lone occupant was a rather unsightly-looking man with an equally unnerving smile, indeed the tavern's other patrons scrunched themselves together rather than sit near him.

The door swung inside to admit a different kind of outsider; a man with snow hanging on his fur cloak, on his head an odd-shaped hat constructed of straw. The stranger took off his head gear to reveal a handsome, if odd face; with slanted eyes and skin of a shade unlike anyone else in these lands. His straight, black hair fixed into a topknot. As the front of his cloak parted it showed two slightly curved swords hanging on his belt, one noticeably longer than the other.

The patrons gave this stranger some curious looks, then went back to their plates and mugs. The stranger stepped up to the barkeep; with an uneven but understandable grasp of the local language he requested a meal, dropping several gold coins on the bar to pay for it.

The barkeep picked up one of the coins to examine it more closely. Instead of a circle it had twelve flat outer edges, and a tiny square punched through the centre. On all four sides of the square were etched different characters from a script unfamiliar to him.

"First time I've ever seen a coin stamped like this," the barkeep observed, then tasted the coin- to the stranger's visible disgust, "But it's real gold, so it's good here," he gathered up the rest and went to fulfill the order.

At this point someone jostled the stranger; as he looked to his right a burly thug sneered at him, "You're not from around here."

"Indeed I am not," the stranger conceded.

"You better watch yourself," the thug continued, "I'm a wanted man- in fact I have a hanging sentence in six provinces." Behind the brute two of his 'friends' snickered in encouragement.

Rather than show the kind of fear the thug had hoped to instil in him, the stranger stood his ground, "Impressive. I am sure your ancestors look upon you with great pride," his calm tone somehow emphasising the contempt he felt.

"What'd you say about my-" the thug lurched forward- then froze, finding the stranger's shorter sword close to his neck- the stranger had drawn the weapon so quickly no one had even seen him do it.

"See this blade at your throat?" the stranger started, "In my hand it has slain giants that could have stomped you flat without even noticing- so I suggest you look for a fight elsewhere." The thug backed down, and several faint cheers ensued as the stranger sheathed his blade.

The barkeep presented the stranger with a tray bearing a mug of the local beer, a wedge of cheese and one of several rabbits he had roasted on a spit. The stranger's face turned queasy for a moment, but he thanked the barkeep and accepted the tray. Looking about he saw the tables were full except for the one whose lone, unsightly occupant waved forward in invitation.

As the stranger sat the other attempted conversation, "Your reflexes were admirable- almost as much as your restraint. From what I saw you could have taken that fool's head clean off quite easily."

The stranger shrugged, "I suspect the tavern keeper has enough problems without having to mop a fool's blood off his floor," he gave in reply.

"I don't doubt he does!" the ugly man laughed, then extended his hand out again, "I am known by these people as Rumplestiltskin."

Realizing what was expected of him the stranger reached over to shake the other's hand and introduced himself, "I am Momotaro."

Storybrooke…

As Emma escorted Henry home the boy opened the book he held and turned it to a specific page, "Here- see?" Henry said out loud.

Emma looked down on the page; in addition to the printed words came illustrations- one showing Momotaro's unusual 'birth'- an elderly couple cutting open a giant peach and finding a healthy baby boy inside where the pit should have been. The text elaborated on how the couple adopted the boy, raising him to be noble and strong. Then Henry showed a picture of Momotaro as an adult.

Emma had to admit- replace the kimono with dirty coveralls and cut off the topknot, he could pass for Stephen's twin. But then Emma was a firm believer in coincidence and the resemblance did little to shake that.

While they walked Henry repeated the rest of the tale; how Momotaro would take on the quest to stop brutish monsters called Oni that had been burning and robbing villages. With the help of three animal companions he had met along the way- a wolf, hawk and monkey, he stormed the demons' island stronghold, killed the oni and returned their loot to the lands it had been stolen from.

To Emma's surprise, the illustrations concerning the clash with the oni were- visceral- compared to the others, or any picture elsewhere in the book for that matter, isn't this a story that was supposed to be told to kids?

"Cute story," Emma started to counter, "But in case you didn't notice no birds or wolves were hanging around that shop, and the only monkey present was a grease monkey." Henry only shut the book and muttered, like most children, firmly convinced he knew everything and adults were blind.

The Magic Kingdom…

In the early hours of the night Momotaro talked and laughed with the one friend he had made in this strange land.

Suddenly the laughter died on Momotaro's lips as he sensed danger. Sure enough the thug from the tavern and his compatriots ran out into the open, surrounding him with weapons at the ready.

The leader of the three, the one Momotaro had faced down snarled at Rumplestiltskin, "We got no beef with you- so stay out of this."

To Momotaro's relief, his companion chose not to endanger himself; he spoke to the brute that had tried to intimidate him, "I see our earlier encounter has taught you nothing."

"Oh I learned plenty," the thug chuckled, "You might be quick with those blades, but you ain't fast enough for all three of us."

"Perhaps not," Momotaro held his ground, "But even then at least one of you would still be killed in the attempt," He looked at the other two, "Are either of you willing to die for his bruised ego?"

The thug yelled at his buddies, "Don't let him spook you- he's all talk!"

"You won't get another chance," Momotaro warned, "Walk away…"

"GET HIM!" the thug and his friends closed in…

It ended far more quickly than it began. A second later Momotaro stood holding a blood-stained blade before him in one hand, a second blade behind him in the other. The thugs lay dead at his feet, their bodies each shorn in two.

"And good riddance I say," Rumplestiltskin spat, "Come on, we should go before someone sees us." But Momotaro did not run. First he whipped his swords through the air flinging the blood off them but away from himself. Then after sheathing the blades he lowered his head.

"Merciful Buddha," He started in the tongue of his homeland, "Guide them in the next life, that they do not repeat the mistakes of the previous one…"

Though Rumplestiltskin may not have understood Momotaro's words, he was able to grasp their intent, "Are you actually praying for those scum?"

Momotaro shot him a dirty look, "Do you mind?" then continued his prayer.

Storybrooke…

Having showered off the day's work and eaten dinner, Stephen sat down to complete a final ritual of the day.

Before him rested a calligraphy set- some might call it an obsolete relic, but to Stephen it represented a form of art worth preserving. Grasping an ink stick firmly in one hand he brought it to the inking stone, which held a modest amount of clean water in its hollow depression.

In circular motions he ground the stick into the water; when just enough ink had settled into the water but not too much he removed the stick, them dipped the bristles of his brush into the mixture. He contemplated what to write; then raised his brush to the paper, using it to scribe three modest lines of verse:

From another world,

Now in this,

One still remembers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Saint of the Sword**

 **Part Two**

The Magic Kingdom…

Rumpelstiltskin led the newcomer known as Momotaro through the trees to his cottage.

"Not much, but it's home," he mused. Momotaro nodded, he was grateful for the hospitality and had, on occasion, taken refuge in more unseemly places.

"Thank you friend," the foreigner answered, "I only hope you do not have to suffer for that- unpleasantness earlier."

"What, those bums?" Rumpelstiltskin referred to the three ruffians who had foolishly attacked his new friend that night, "Sooner or later, and I'm betting on sooner- the sheriff would've had to hang them for some crime anyway, you just saved him the bother."

Momotaro scowled. That was not the first time he'd had to cut someone down in self-defence and he had few illusions it would be the last, but even they did not deserve to be dismissed so coldly. Yet he held his tongue.

Storybrooke…

Stephen Hisashi stood outside Mr. Gold's pawn shop. Like most of the town's inhabitants he was a tenant of Mr. Gold, but where the others were ignorant of their true past and his, Stephen was not- which made his necessary interactions with Mr. Gold more trying than theirs.

'Just go in and get it over with,' he silently told himself before stepping inside.

Mr. Gold smiled at Stephen when he entered- a smile that made Stephen shudder. Presenting the envelope that held a cheque, he kept his tone polite, but not familiar when he spoke, "This month's rent."

Mr. Gold took the envelope in hand, "Oh before you go- I managed to acquire some of that rice paper you like to use for your poetry. If you're interested…"

In truth Stephen had hoped to get in and out of that shop quickly, but he paused. That rice paper was difficult to come by; he'd had difficulty locating online vendors for it and the one time he tried to go to another town to find some had ended… unpleasantly. Finally, he nodded, Mr. Gold went to retrieve the aforementioned paper.

His business concluded Stephen turned to leave- and nearly collided with Regina Mills. An awkward silence passed before Stephen addressed her, "Mayor Mills," then left.

Regina watched Stephen leave; when the door swung shut behind him She turned to Mr. Gold, "Something strange about that one," she said, "I always get the impression he knows something the others don't."

Mr. Gold nodded, "Perhaps because I might have designed the curse to affect him a little differently…"

"What?" Regina glowered, "You fool- "

"Oh come now, who's he going to tell?" Mr. Gold countered, "Besides, it didn't exactly feel right, keeping such a friend in the dark about who he was."

"A friend?" Regina chuckled, "I'm not so sure he still considers you such."

The Magic Kingdom…

Momotaro brought the axe down and spit another log in twain. Rumpelstiltskin had told him the labor was unnecessary but Momotaro had insisted on contributing to the household somehow. Gathering up the kindling in both arms he headed back to the cottage; when he got close enough to hear two voices within he stopped.

In Momotaro's land magic was something rare and mysterious; he had been uneasy when he learned of Rumpelstiltskin's seeming mastery of it, but tried to keep an open mind, reminding himself this was a different land with different ways. And now he strained his ear to make out what was being said.

"I think I can help you," he heard Rumpelstiltskin say, "However, you should be made aware- all magic comes with a price."

"I'll pay that price," the other person pleaded, "Name it!"

It was what Momotaro heard next that made him drop the kindling- Rumpelstiltskin casually said, "We'll worry about that later- your signature?"

Momotaro thought he heard the scratching of a quill on paper, followed by Rumpelstiltskin saying, "Slip this philter into the drink of the woman in question, make sure that she sees your son when she imbibes it before anyone else- and your boy will have the spouse you desire for him."

A moment later a woman dressed as nobility emerged from the cottage. She briefly glanced at the 'foreigner'- as most people had come to regard Momotaro as- then strutted out on her way.

Momotaro entered the cottage and looked upon Rumpelstiltskin, partly wanting to believe he hadn't heard what had transpired. Rumpelstiltskin himself seemed rather pleased with what had happened- but when he saw Momotaro's face his smile evaporated, "I assume you heard what business I just concluded?"

"I did," Momotaro hissed, "Worry about that later? You could demand anything from her when the time comes! That is no bargain you offer, that is a trap!"

"A trap?" Rumpelstiltskin laughed, "Do you think anyone here knows not what I am- what kind of deals I make? That they have any illusions of what bartering with me will bring? If what I offer is a trap, it is one they walk into knowingly and willingly."

"And that's supposed to make it better?" Momotaro snarled.

Rumpelstiltskin simply shrugged and turned away.

Storybrooke…

Stephen went inside Granny Lucas' café and took his usual seat. Ruby Lucas greeted him with a warm smile and asked if he wanted his usual. Stephen nodded; as Ruby went to get him his tea and salad he watched her interact with her grandmother.

Did he have grandparents- in his old life? Stephen wondered; for all intents and purposes his 'birth mother' was a tree in an orchard somewhere, and the couple who raised him had both lost their parents long before he entered their lives.

'Their lives'. Sometimes Stephen envied the others of this town for their ignorance of where they came from and their past, other times he pitied them for it. Occasionally he wondered if any others in Storybrooke were aware of the town curse, aside from Mayor Mills and Mr. Gold- and young Henry, he supposed.

Pondering this he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, to his surprise it was Ruby's grandmother who brought him his order.

"Don't suppose one of these days I can convince you to try my pie?" Granny asked, "You really don't know what you're missing out on."

"I'm sure it's delicious," Stephen answered, "I'm just trying to watch what I eat."

"A health nut?" she smirked.

"Something like that," he replied.

Granny looked over the bag at the side of Stephen's seat, "Is that some sort of fancy paper there?" she asked.

"This?" Stephen looked down to the bag, "Rice paper- more porous than other kinds- I use it for calligraphy."

"Oh right, your poems," Granny remembered, "The paper printed some of them a few days back, I read them."

"Yes it did," Stephen remembered translating a few for the local newspaper editor, "You saw them- what did you think?"

"Alright I guess," Granny started, "Just always thought if it doesn't rhyme it's not really a poem, is all." Granny broke off to see to a new customer, Stephen sipped his tea.

The Magic Kingdom…

Momotaro stood on the path leading to Rumpelstiltskin's cottage. Sure enough someone approached, no doubt to make a foolish deal with the sorcerer.

"Ho there," the man hailed Momotaro, "This the way to Rumpelstiltskin's home?"

"It is," Momotaro said morosely; stepping in front of the other when the man made a few more steps, "Whatever he offers you," Momotaro pleaded, "Surely you know what you will lose isn't worth it."

The man scowled, "What do you know, foreigner," then shoved Momotaro aside. Momotaro hung his head in sorrow.

Later that night Momotaro packed what few belongings he had; Rumpelstiltskin looked on, finally saying "You really don't need to do this."

"Yes I do," Momotaro insisted, "You have been kind to me and I am grateful for that, but I cannot stay under a roof where such dishonorable deals are struck."

Rumpelstiltskin exhaled, "Where will you go?"

Momotaro raised his head, "I have heard of a fort in a nearby province, where they welcome skilled warriors- even from foreign lands- who are willing to defend the people from these creatures called ogres. Perhaps my skills will serve a good cause there."

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head at this, but he would not force his friend- possibly his only friend- to stay, saying "Just know that when you realize your foolishness, you shall always find the door to this cottage open for you."

Momotaro nodded, then left without a word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Saint of the Sword**

 **Part Three**

The Magic Kingdom…

Momotaro followed the forest path uneasily. They told him it was a shortcut, but they also said a gang of bandits called these woods home as well. Up until now he had been hoping they'd see him as not worth their trouble.

Those hopes crumbled soon; nobody was visible but Momotaro's dairokkan- what the people in this land might call a sixth sense- told him he was being watched.

Momotaro stopped, "I know you are there," he challenged, "Show yourselves."

Two men wielding bastard swords emerged from the brush, "Well there," the first one said, "This one's perceptive. Name's Robin of Locksley, this here's Little John – "

"You're the thieves I was warned of before entering this forest," Momotaro cut him off, not interested in introducing himself to criminals, "Step aside, I have little coin for you."

"I don't know, you look like you have a light purse, true," Robin started, "But I think we'd get a price for those fancy swords on your belt."

Momotaro glowered- perhaps in these barbarian lands one would part with his blade so casually, but where he was from a warrior's sword was his soul- "Would they be worth the arm you would lose trying to take them?" he threatened.

"Now don't be stupid," Robin warned, "There's two of us in front of you and several more past the treeline with arrows knocked- so just hand them over."

Hearing those words Momotaro appeared to concede; reaching down he gripped his katana by its sheath and took it from his belt- then slammed the sword's pommel first into Robin's solar plexus, then into Little John's. Hearing the twang of bowstrings, he ducked his head as one passed, while at the same time whipped out his wakizashi cutting down three more. As Robin of Locksley and Little John wriggled on the forest floor grunting in pain Momotaro tensed waiting for more arrows, but none came. Satisfied that they seemed cowed, he stepped over their leader and pressed on.

From that point forward Momotaro reached the outpost he sought without incident. A circular stone tower surrounded by a stone wall, the faint silhouette of archers on the tower's summit The wall's gate swung wide open in invitation.

Inside the wall Momotaro saw many watchmen practicing melee combat and archery- a few sparred with each other but the rest worked on combat dummies at least twice their size and some even greater- hideous faces crudely carved onto their heads, to Momotaro they looked almost as ugly as the oni he once took up blades against.

Out of the tower two muscular men approached. One slightly shorter help out an open ledger in one hand, a stick of charcoal in the other. The taller one behind him wore a prosthetic leg just below the right knee in the form of a sharp, double-edged blade. Both wore heavy claymore swords across their backs.

"I am lord Conner," the taller man with the prosthesis proclaimed, "the warden of this outpost," he gestured to the other, "This is Duncan."

Momotaro bowed before introducing himself, "I am Momotaro, I have come to offer my skills with the arts of the sword."

Conner nodded but Duncan looked skeptical; looking down to the swords hanging on Momotaro's belt "You think you can stop an ogre with those kitchen knives?"

Momotaro scowled but kept his voice calm, "In my experience, a weapon is only as good as the arm that holds it," he noticed Conner nod, "These blades have seen me through encounters with bandits, killers, beasts- and worse," from a pouch on his belt he brought forth what looked like an animal horn, "One cut this off of the king of Onigasha- Demon Island, in your language."

Conner took the object and inspected it more closely. It was jet black save for the base which was alabaster white. Its base was also a third of a foot wide, as the object curved forward it tapered to a point sharp enough to pierce steel plate. Conner touched a calloused thumb to the object's point and drew blood, then held it closer to Duncan.

Duncan looked it over, "I'd hate to be gored with a horn like that," he conceded.

"It's his thumbnail," Momotaro corrected him, noticing both men's eyes widen, "I would need a horse and wagon to carry one of his horns- and that is assuming I did not break my blade cutting it off."

Conner nodded, "Welcome then," he looked to Duncan, "Mark his name down." Momotaro tried not to picture how Duncan would spell his name.

Conner looked to a group of the watchmen, "Ali!" he called out. Hearing his name, one of them approached; a dark-skinned man wearing fine but faded silks. As he approached he sheathed a two-handed sword with a graceful curve to its edge.

"Ali Baba, this is Momotaro," Conner gestured to the newcomer, "The new brave soul to join our ranks, help him get settled." Ali Baba nodded, then led Momotaro into the tower.

As they walked they exchanged stories; it turned out Ali was once a poor woodcutter until he stumbled on a hideout used by forty bandits. The discovery set in motion events that ended in the death of the bandits- and sadly, Ali's brother Cassim as well.

"I claimed their loot for my own, but the wealth soon felt hollow," Ali continued, "I spent much on this sword and learning how to use it, the rest on exploring this world- finally the ship I booked passage on wrecked itself on rocks near the coast of this kingdom."

Momotaro reflected on that last statement, as he himself had come to this land under similar circumstances, though he still knew not the fate of his animal companions.

"I had difficulty fitting in among the villages and people of this land, but I learned that in this outpost, if one is willing to face ogres and has the skills to back up his nerve, they ask few questions," Ali Baba then looked down, "There is a drawback to such an inclusive attitude- you should expect to find yourself fighting alongside fugitives and criminals hoping to escape the noose or axe for their misdeeds."

Momotaro felt a little uneasy at hearing such but put it aside; he then asked if three particular men had served here, one of whom claimed to have a death sentence in seven provinces. Ali said the description sounded like the only men he'd ever seen the warden of the tower turn away.

"What's this, has warden Conner found a new victim for the ogres?" the voice came from a woman of black, curly hair who approached.

"Momotaro," Ali gestured to the woman, "This is Atlanta the huntress."

Momotaro looked her over. Her bronze frame was not quite Amazonian, but toned nonetheless; from her physique and the proud way she carried herself, he could tell that this was no servant girl, "You're a fighter here too?" he asked.

"An archer, to be more specific," Atlanta answered, "My bow has brought down beasts that even a fool ogre would run from."

"Like I said," Ali remarked, "They ask few questions."

Two days later, katana held in both hands Momotaro sparred against a dummy representing one of the dreaded ogres. The effigy turned out to be an impressive feat of engineering; rather than simply stand waiting to be struck it spun to face him as he turned while its arms flailed, swinging dummy weapons. A morningstar head with pieces of cork substituting for spikes nearly clipped him and he ducked into a roll to avoid a wooden blade, yet on returning to his feet he managed to score a couple hits of his own.

The dummy ceased spinning, and Ali approached to study the cuts Momotaro had inflicted on its frame, "Impressive, for a rookie," he said.

"Not so tough compared to the Oni," Momotaro replied, "And I slew a whole fortress of them- admittedly I did have help."

At that point a watchman sped in from outside the tower wall, screaming that ogres were sighted heading for one of the villages in the province. As everyone hustled Ali remarked to Momotaro, "Shame we don't have such help now."

Atlanta and the other archers took up position on a hilltop while the other watchmen rushed past them into melee. Nocking an arrow, she chose her target carefully, sighting an ogre in the front of the throng, she released the bowstring.

Her arrow whistled as it raced through the air; penetrating the brute's eye it buried itself in its skull. The ogre toppled forward, others stomped over its body without even giving it so much as a backward glance.

His falchion unsheathed, Ali Baba watched as an ogre thunder toward him. He leapt high as the giant swung its cudgel forward. Vaulting clear of the crude weapon Ali brought his blade crashing down on the ogre's skull, breaching the scalp, drawing blood- and bouncing hard off the bone. Kicking against the ogre's massive shoulder, Ali hurdled himself back into the air; on landing behind the brute he rolled to his feet and swung his blade high across its back, cutting flesh and severing the spine.

Momotaro pushed toward an ogre that literally stood head and shoulders above the others. This one bore a helmet and crude armguards, and each fist clenched a tree trunk with battered, bent sword blades hammered through it- surely this was their leader. Yet before he could engage the chief another ogre bolted past it and rushed Momotaro. Momotaro had to leap back to avoid what would've been a crushing blow; when the ogre hefted its weapon back up for another attempt he sprung forward, slashing both his blades across the creature's belly in opposite directions.

The dying ogre keeled forward, pinning Momotaro to the grassy ground while its chieftain thundered past. Most might have smothered under such a brute's weight but Momotaro had possessed the strength of a grown man at the mere age of seven; with all his might he heaved the body off of him and, turning around, ran in the direction the ogre leader headed.

By now Atlanta had already dropped a second ogre; she drew another arrow and, with her careful aim, sent it into the eye of a third. As she reached for another she heard screams from close by- the ogre chieftain roared up the hill, battering her fellow archers aside. Dropping the arrow, Atlanta froze- the creature was upon her…

Suddenly she saw Momotaro leap up behind the brute- and with both of his swords, he separated the ogre's head from its stunted neck; then kicked its shoulder with enough force that its body twisted and fell to its side instead of crashing on top of Atlanta.

As their leader fell, the remaining ogres lost their nerve and made a retreat- some with arrows and swords sticking out of their flesh. All that was left to do was tend to the wounded and drag back the dead- Warden Conner lay among the latter, his claymore bit deep into a fallen ogre's carcass, his blade- prosthesis nowhere in sight.

Later that night, back at the tower Momotaro washed the gore from his body in the keep baths; upon drying he donned some silks that Ali had volunteered- an awkward fit for one used to a kimono, but at least they weren't drenched in ogre blood.

Ali sought him out and bade Momotaro follow him to the great hall, where they saw kegs of red wine cracked open and poured into a great vat- the fighters had gathered to celebrate the survivors- and mourn the fallen.

Whether he desired it or not Momotaro found himself the man of the hour- he'd only slain two ogres to Atlanta's three but one of those two had come close to killing the huntress herself- "And then we'd REALLY be in trouble!" a watchman shouted, to which the others responded with cheers before dunking pewter tankards into the vat and then guzzling the wine within.

Momotaro saw Atlanta partake but Ali did not, when he asked Ali said "Allah frowns upon such intoxicants."

Atlanta heard this, seeing Momotaro not drinking she prodded, "I suppose drink is a sin where you're from too?"

"No," Momotaro replied, "But this wine makes me of another certain red, sticky liquid."

The huntress stared at that remark, "You do know it's made from grapes, right?"

Momotaro nodded, then looking around the hall he saw Conner's claymore mounted on the wall in honor, "How long had you two known Conner?" he asked.

"He'd been warden of the tower before either of us showed up," Ali said, "I can remember following him into five skirmishes before today."

"But he'd be the first to remind us that one's time could come at any moment," Atlanta interjected, "And that death plays no favorites."

Momotaro reflected on this, remembered the animal companions separated from him so abruptly- then grabbed a tankard, filled it and chugged down the contents.

"That's the spirit!" Atlanta shouted, waiting for Momotaro to swallow before she slapped him on the back.


End file.
